The Lies That Bind

27: I'll Take An Existential Crisis With My Pancakes, Please

That unpleasant reminder had caused a knot to form in Cooper's stomach—a knot that had grown tighter and heavier with each passing hour. But Calla, as always, seemed indifferent to the task. Probably because she was indifferent. It wasn't like she'd known the guy. And even if she had...

She was happy. For the first time. Watching that girl die, it filled something empty inside of her. You could see it.

Cooper suppressed a shudder. "If it weren't for Michaels..." he started, unsure of himself.

Calla glanced up from her work calendar, suddenly invested in the conversation. "If it weren't for Michaels?" she prompted.

You can still back out of this conversation. But he couldn't. If he kept this weight on his shoulders, he'd be crushed. "If it weren't for Michaels and his creepy vendetta, would you still...uh, kill people?"

She blinked, perplexed by the question. Not a strong start. "You mean, people as in Kurt and Owen and your professor?"

"No. Yes." He flushed. "I mean any people. Like, whatever...inspired you to kill Tracy, for instance. Is that..." She was happy. For the first time. "I mean, is it like...an urge, or something?"

Realization sparked in her eyes. She looked away, at the flames on the stove, the muscles in her jaw working as she fought...whatever it was she wanted to say. Cooper alternated between watching at the pancake batter and  watching her. Waiting for her anger.

But the anger never came.

Her jaw relaxed and, with a weary sigh, she sagged against the kitchen island. "I don't know, Cooper. And I know that isn't what you want to hear," she said as he opened his mouth. He closed it again. "But it's the truth. I've been so wrapped up in Michaels, that every awful thing he's asked of me..." She shrugged a bit helplessly. "It hasn't seemed so awful. Those people, they were just jobs. Tasks to check off. Like a grocery list." 

He winced at the harshness of her words. But had he really expected anything less?

"There's not really been any time to ask myself if I...enjoy it." She paused. Considered him. "But I know there's a part of me that does enjoy it."

She would not trust this piece of herself to anyone else, he realized. It was his to keep. His burden to bear, as it was hers.

So he set down the bowl of pancake batter. And he listened.

Her shrewd eyes took him in for another few seconds, until finally she spared him and looked to the window over the sink. To the gray, cold world beyond. "I guess I could blame it all on my dead brother," she said blandly. "Spin some sob story about how watching him die screwed up some fundamental something inside my brain. But that would be a lie. And a convenient one, at that." Her grip on the island's edge tightened, knuckles going stark white. "I've always been angry. I was angry before and I was angry after. Because when I'm not angry, I'm empty and that's somehow so much worse."

She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration—as if she were taking a microscope to her own brain, hunting for a normal switch she could flip on at a touch.

"I know the empty spaces aren't supposed to be there," she said, opening her eyes once more. "For years, I wondered what the hell I was missing. The power of love, perhaps?" Her lips twisted in an ironic smile. He couldn't quite muster one of his own. "I can't tell you how many tears I've forced, just to see if they would make me feel the way everyone else does. If love couldn't fill the holes inside me, maybe sadness would. But that's never done it for me, either."

Watching that girl die, it filled something empty inside of her. You could see it.

Cooper hated to think that Cory had been right all along—that he'd seen Calla, as Cooper had seen her. The idea unsettled him, not because of what she was, but because Calla had always been his secret to keep, and he was loath to share that with anyone else.